Science Fiction Double Feature
by Alexandra Spar
Summary: Post MIB2 fic; sequel to Sea Change. Sweet transvestites from Transsexual Transylvania have landed and they're holding GothiCon 2002.
1. You sold a reverberating carbonizer to W...

"Well well well. What _have_ we here?"

Jack Jeebs stiffened, straightening up slowly, at the sound of that voice. He hadn't kept the perimeter motion detectors on—_damn, damn, damn_—and she'd just come strolling in on his entire collection of illegal untaxed imports. They looked damn good laid out on the black velvet. He was in the process of filing off the serial numbers on the barrels.

Not much to be done; still, Jeebs plastered an ingratiating smile on his face and looked the woman in black straight in the sunglasses. "Hiya, Sea, how you doin?" he tried.

Sea picked up a Nuvin Systems mitotic revertor. "Nice," she said appreciatively. "Very nice. These things selling well these days, Jeebs?"

"Uh," said Jeebs, not willing to implicate himself any further than was possible. Her smile hardened a little around the edges; she tossed the little device in her hand absently, and Jeebs really, really didn't like the way she had the nozzle pointed in his direction. Something like that wouldn't just blow his head off, it'd make it so his head had never been there at all. Behind her, the door opened again, and for once in his nasty little life Jack Jeebs was really pleased to see the man who stood on the threshold. Even though he was holding his favourite Series Four. "Kay!" he oozed. "Kay, come on, make her put that down, man.........."

Kay was enjoying this so much he almost smiled. "Oh, she knows what she's doing," he drawled. "Listen, Jeebs, we think you can help us."

"Oh, anything, Kay, you know me, glad to be of service." His green polyester shirt was damp with sweat. Sea was still playing with the revertor in a meaningful sort of way.

"Excellent." Kay leaned against the counter. "Who came in here a couple nights ago and bought one of these off you?" He held up a picture of a complicated, shiny piece of hardware with a name not even Jeebs could pronounce, which worked on a principle not unlike that of the neutron bomb: kill things, kill lots of things, but don't damage buildings. Jeebs swallowed.

"Uh, now, you know I can't violate my clients' privacy—" he began, but the cold nozzle of the revertor underneath his jaw cut off that line of comment. Sea was grinning at him. He thought, not for the first time, that it wasn't fair someone so mean could be so attractive. Kay was regarding the ceiling with blatant unconcern. "Okay, okay, okay," Jeebs quivered. "Male Mertagensian, bout six-seven, in a really good disguise, looks like a young white male with a goatee and dreadlocks, dark hair and eyes. Paid for it with a credit card."

Kay rolled his eyes. "You let aliens use credit cards? You're dumber than you look. Gimme the receipts."

Jeebs, eyes rolling in slightly different directions as he tried to reach over to the slip drawer without accidentally getting himself killed, shuffled through the receipts for the past few days and thrust one at Kay. The older man took it, between finger and thumb, and scowled. "Went through all right, huh?"

"Yeah," said Jeebs, "it looked okay to me...."

Sea gave the little device a twist, just enough to destroy Jeebs's current head, and took the opportunity to ferret through the slip drawer. She slid two more scraps of paper into her suit pockets before Jeebs's eyes regenerated themselves. "Thanks for your help," she said sweetly and sashayed out to the car.

Kay waited until Jeebs's head had grown back and then fixed him with the familiar Kay Look. "This is confiscated," he said, as he had so many, many times, "all of it, you're coming in for questioning before deportation, and if I find you doing anything this stupid and irresponsible again I'm gonna let her handle you, got it?"

Jeebs nodded, eyes wide. Kay gave him a satisfied little smile and followed his partner.

In the car, as the containment crew bundled Jeebs and his merchandise off to headquarters, he glanced over at her. "Did you have to do that?"

"Do what?" Sea took off her sunglasses and loosened her tie. "He was holding out on us." She fished out the slips of paper and handed them over; they were other credit card receipts made within two hours of the one for the Mertagensian's purchase, both Visa Universal Durasteel cards. One was for a field-stripped version of the Noisy Cricket, which made Kay scowl, and the other was for.........a reverberating carbonizer with mutate capacity. One, an easily concealable purse weapon with a kick like a couple tons of TNT, and the other, an assassination weapon. And the Mertagensian in disguise had bought something generally used for cleaning out plague-stricken prison camps without having to rebuild the huts. 

"Something really nasty's going down." Sea lit a cigarette and opened the LTD's window a crack. 

"So I gather," said her partner, reaching over and appropriating the Camel. He took a long meditative drag before handing it back. "Get Zed on the horn and tell him what we found. And ask them to run a full background check on those cardholders."

Sea unracked the dash mike and called up headquarters, relaying the information. "Oh," she added, "and check all the customs and immigration records for the past month; who's on-planet who has a good reason to kill a lot of people very efficiently?"

Kay took the cigarette back. "There's a convention in town," he said, absently. "My money's on one of the speakers as a target."

Sea scowled at him and racked the mike again. "How come you know everything before I do?" She reclaimed her cigarette. "I've been trying, you know. I've been doing _research_."

Kay regarded her. "_And_ you're a telepath. So..........."

She sighed and nudged aside the courtesy blocks she'd set over her mindtouch and almost immediately she knew why he knew: because he'd seen it in the paper that morning. _GothiCon 02—Seeking Greater Understanding of Morbidity and Gloom—comes to New York, Aug 2-5. Featured speakers include Mitchell K. Buggs, international vampire impersonator, and Jarvis Peebles, CEO of United Vinyl._ "You don't think.........." she began, and then thought about it. "Huh. Isn't it a bit, um, obvious, having it out in plain view of the public?"

"Kid," said Kay mildly, "haven't you figured that one out yet? The more ridiculously obvious something is, the more easy it is to ignore. Look." He pointed—with her cigarette—at a mailman who was tucking his long scaly tail absently into his shorts. "The human mind just kind of steps around it. Makes our job easier."

"So no one's gonna notice a hotel full of pigmentless black-clad individuals discussing doom and destructi............" She trailed off again, taking the cigarette back firmly. "Okay, okay, I'm an idiot." They were passing through the East Village, where pigmentless black-clad individuals, often with bizarre hairstyles, were the norm. 

Kay patted her gently on the head. "You're a rookie," he said. "Don't sweat it." She gave him a glance of such vitriol he took his hand away, grinning. "But you're learning fast."

They pulled up outside a nondescript rowhouse not far from the Life Cafe—famous for its pasta with meatless balls—and got out. Kay tossed the keys to her. "You get to be the designated driver."

"Oh, great." She followed him sourly. "I was looking forward to that Laphroaig."

Kay shrugged. "Sorry. But I've got one fuck of a headache." He pushed the doorbell and folded his arms, waiting. She sighed and nodded.

When Millius let them in, she took one look at their faces and burst out laughing. "You two are entirely too cute," she gasped, leaning on Kay. "He's being Mr. Grumpy and you're his sidekick Petulant Chick."

Faced with those epithets even Kay couldn't help cracking a smile. The slender Martian led them into her living room and poured them drinks. "What's up?" she asked.

Sea tossed the receipts on the glass coffee table. "Tell me this isn't gonna ruin my week," she begged. Beside her on the sofa, Kay was leaning back with his eyes closed, but his left hand was creeping slowly around her waist. 

Millius took up position on her piano and shuffled through them. She gave a low whistle. "Someone's gonna die. Several somebodies, if this is any indication."

"Who's the main enemy of the Transylvanians?" Kay inquired. Sea snorted and put down her very, very small glass of Scotch. 

"Transylvanians?" she repeated. "Like, "I vant to drink your blooood" Transylvanians?"

He looked at her with a little condescending smile. "No, kid, like "I'm just a sweet transvestite" Transylvanians. Come _on_, you have to have seen that training film." 

A horrible feeling was creeping over Sea. "........Tell me you're kidding."

Kay's smile grew wider. "Transsexual Transylvania." He pulled out a small silver thing that looked like a Palm Pilot and pushed a few buttons: starcharts lit up on the screen, and one planet in a distant galaxy was picked out in—what else?—pink. "It was discovered ages ago in the seventies, when it turned out that some Transylvanians had made unauthorized planetfall and were screwing around with the local population, literally. Fortunately we didn't have to step in—Transylvanian authorities took care of the problem for us. A sad story, but not without its catchy little tunes."

Sea looked at Millius helplessly. The Martian nodded, her long white hair cascading over her shoulders. "Fraid so, honey. They've come back since, but they're being less of a nuisance—although they've got a whole human following now, after that original, er, close encounter. And they've branched out now; they've just about given up on the absolute pleasure ideal and they've gone over into doom and gloom, because the overheads are lower. Moreover, it's easier to dress for; less in the way of spangles."

Sea swallowed her drink. "Okay," she said in the voice of one who is holding on to sanity with grim determination. "So.......who _are_ their main enemies?"

Kay's hand tightened almost imperceptibly on her waist. "That's the problem," he said. "They have so many."

The Mertagensian wasn't much of a clue; Mertagense was one of the classic mercenary planets, where anyone with enough credits could buy themselves a nice little army. They'd work for anyone, anytime, for whatever reason, as long as they were paid in full. Zed had set the Twins searching for any and all information on the cardholders, but so far everything was coming up nonexistent. "They had to have been registered somewhere," said Sea crossly, "or otherwise even Jeebs's credit card machine would've rejected them, right?"

"One would think so," said Zed sourly, "unless our Mr. Jeebs is in this deeper than we thought. Cue!" he called over his shoulder. A balding man looked up. "Go and lean on Jeebs. We've got him in interrogation room four." Agent Q nodded and trotted off in the direction of the detention wing. Zed flopped into his chair and stared at Sea and Kay. "This is big, people," he said.

"It's always big," remarked Kay. He sighed. "Right, boss. Where do you want us?"

"Go find me that Mertagensian and take his weapon away from him."

Sea snorted. "You don't ask much, do you?"

Zed gave her a look. "You're the best. Elle and Jay are on the convention. I need you two on this."

Kay hooked an arm around her and pulled her out of Zed's office. "Come on," he said, "don't antagonize the boss right now."

She allowed herself to be led out to the LTD. He took the driver's seat, sliding in behind the wheel as soon as the motor-pool driver got out, and fished in the glove compartment for his cigarettes. "Kay?" she asked, putting on her seatbelt.

"Yeah?"

"You all right? I'm getting a lot of weird feelings here."

He squinted at her. "Yeah. I'm okay. Just a headache."

She stared back, then nodded as they drove off. Later she would realize what it was she had felt—sheer foreshadowing, nothing more complicated than that—and wish that her premonitions could be clearer.

Tracking the mercenary by his credit card was easier than it ought to have been; he clearly wasn't that well informed about Terran financial systems. Taking the weapon away wasn't.

They'd found him in the back room of a comic book store in Soho, flipping through a copy of Neil Gaiman's _Brief Lives._ Sea had to give him points for taste, although she was a little disappointed to see he had a whole collection of other comics tucked under his arm, most of them with titles like "Gloom" and "Anguish." He was, as Jeebs had said, beautifully disguised as a young, rather boring-looking human male, with spots and dreadlocks and pants that were fashionably too large. However, his _mind_.........the swirling neon-red strangeness of his mind that she'd felt from half a borough away—was a dead giveaway. She probed gently, trying to find where he had the weapon hidden—it was a little thing, barely the size of a Glock 9mm, but it could easily reduce most of New York City to a ghost town.

She hated having to do this, but it was necessary. Absently browsing among the romance comics, she took down a particular block and reached out to Kay—close by, his headache throbbing in little purple waves. She winced and kept it short. _He's got the gun inside the disguise, close to his human waist. Laser stripper. Do it fast._

She could feel her partner's headache blossom as she touched his mind and she hurriedly drew back again, slamming down the courtesy blocks, still visibly engrossed in a copy of _Passion's Burning Lust_. One hand crept into her pocket and closed around the Cricket's grip.

Kay began to move towards the Mertagensian, apparently intent on the rack of Star Wars graphic novels behind him, and—as always—his attack was so swift even Sea, who was expecting it, jumped. He pulled a tiny silver device from his belt and triggered it as he lunged out at the Mertagensian, slitting the disguise neatly from chin to crotch. The whole thing was over so quickly Sea hadn't even seen the glow of the laser. The torn integument slid to the ground, revealing the spindly silicon-based form of the mercenary—and the silvery gun it had been concealing. Sea whipped out her Cricket as the Mertagensian made for the gun. Kay pulled his Series Four. "Drop it," she ordered the alien, in a clear form of Common. "Drop it and back away or you're interstellar dust."

She could sense Kay rolling his eyes—_need to work on your threats, Grasshopper_. The Mertagensian glanced from her to him, and she followed its gaze for a split second too long—and it had whipped out one long skinny limb, knocking the Series Four from Kay's grasp, and curled its claws around his throat, lifting him off his feet. She kept the Cricket trained on the node that held its CNS. "Big mistake," she said, as her vision swirled briefly.

"You drop it," it told her, squeezing. She fought against the waves of his pain and kept her gun steady. If she was lucky—if she was accurate and lucky—she could sever its nerves before it had time to spasm and close those claws any further. It was not holding the gun. Its claw was about three inches from the gun's grip. Kay's eyes were rolling up, but he wasn't struggling. She could hear his breathing, though, a tortured gasp.

"How about this," she said thinly, "you let my partner and the weapon go, and we all walk out of here alive?"

It all happened fast. Very fast. She kept the thought on a very tight beam, aware that Mertagensians had some background telepathic ability. Almost instantly, and in perfect unison, Kay swung himself backwards and knocked the alien's weapon from its holster with one clean kick as Sea darted forwards and fired the Cricket directly into the thing's CNS.

At that range the destruction was absolute and there was no time even for a spasm signal to be sent to those bright claws. The Mertagensian.....disintegrated. Sparkling shards of silicon pattered down around them; a scorched hole in the back wall of the shop revealed a surprised-looking alleyway full of trash cans.

Sea fell on her knees beside Kay. All around them the comic-book shop patrons were staring, mouths open, as parts of their favourite books happened right in front of their eyes. He lay perfectly still, and she could see the bruises already blossoming on his throat. The Cricket fell from her hands; she ripped off his tie and tore the top buttons of his shirt open.

"That," he croaked, not bothering to open his eyes, "was not one of our better moments," and went off into a fit of hoarse coughing.

"Shut up, dear," she said mildly, and burst into tears.

Half an hour later, she sat in the elevated office, her hands clasped to hide the way they were still shaking. She'd given her report after taking a protesting Kay to medical and making sure someone had a good look at him, and she had handed over the confiscated weapon, and was now sitting in an egg-chair feeling rather as if she was about to be executed.

Zed weighed the Mertagensian's gun in his hands for a long, thoughtful moment, and then put it down carefully on his desk. "Have this destroyed," he said to his office assistant. Sea watched the man flicker in and out of vision as he moved at a respectable fraction of lightspeed. 

"Done sir! Anything else sir?"

"Get me a cup of coffee, would you? Viennese Cinnamon. With hazelnut." The assistant blurred out again. Zed fixed Sea with a look.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said. The look deepened.

"Sea," he said. "You saved his life and several hundred thousand other lives. Shut up. The point I'm trying to make here is that by killing the assassin you also got rid of any hope we might've had of figuring out who hired him."

She returned his look. "Which would you rather I had done?" she inquired.

Zed dropped his gaze first. "Go on. Go take the rest of the day off."

She looked through the exam room window as a doctor she belatedly recognized as Elle helped Kay on with his shirt, and looked away again, hurrying out of the building. She stopped at a local bar and had three large scotches, one after another, before going home.

The bubble bath got rid of some of the tension aches, but she still had to use her migraine injector and spend the afternoon lying down in a silent dark room. It wasn't one of the super-extra-economy size headaches she'd had right after the accident, but it was about a seven point eight on the Richter scale, and she was jolly glad she hadn't had time to eat anything that day. Over and over again she saw Kay lying crumpled on the shop floor with those dark bruises blooming on his throat, saw the Mertagensian exploding into crystal dust.

Eventually she slept.

The doorbell woke her at nine-thirty at night. She jerked awake, staring into the darkness with eyes that no longer felt like red-hot curried marbles, and wondered where she was for a horrible uncertain moment. It had been three months since she'd stopped being Christine Redhart, but old habits died hard, and she had been so used to her old apartment that this one still felt odd. 

Whoever it was at the door was being quite insistent. She swung her legs off the edge of the bed, cursing in a low continuous undertone, and put on a robe, padding out to the hall. "Who is it?" she demanded crossly.

There was a pause. Then, from the other side of the door, someone said huskily, "Damn, woman, you could at least sound pleased to see me."

She slid the chain off and opened the door, not knowing what to say. Kay was, as ever, wearing his impeccable uniform. She didn't know whether to slam the door or burst into tears, but he settled the matter for her by smartly inserting himself through the gap between her and the door and closing it behind him before taking her face firmly between his hands and kissing her until her ears rang.

"That's twice now," he told her, some time later, refilling their glasses. "You need to do something stupid so I can even the score." He still sounded awful, his voice raw and husky, but he didn't seem to be suffering in any other way. "First the Silar and now this."

"Oh, it's okay," she told him, a little dizzily. "No reparations are required."

He scowled. "Why'd you run off, earlier?"

"I......" She sighed. "Zed bawled me out for destroying whatever chance we had of finding the guys who hired him."

Kay looked at her for a moment, then nodded. "And you thought............"

"I don't know what I thought. I had a migraine coming on." She sighed. He scowled again.

"Why didn't you say?"

"What did you want me to say? 'I'm taking the rest of the day off cos I have a bit of a headache, oh, and incidentally I'm terrified of seeing you because I don't know what you're going to say to me when you do see me again......'" She hid her face in her hands, cursing. "Bugger, now you've got me drunk, and I can't help telling the truth."

"It's useful," said Kay, and took her hands away. "Shut up for a moment and listen to me, would you?"

She shut up. He was using The Voice.

"Thank you for saving my life again." He spat the sentence out in one go.

".....you're welcome...."

".....and don't you ever, _ever_ run out on me again like that. I drove all over Manhattan looking for you in every bar and every goddamn coffee shop you go to, before giving up and coming here." He was still holding her hands. She looked up at him, completely lost for words, and he took the opportunity to kiss her again, firmly and with considerable skill.


	2. Preparing for the Floor Show

Elle stalked back into MIB headquarters that evening, in a filthy mood and with her eyeliner running. It was bloody hot outside. She had no idea how the cute little college goths could stand walking around with white pancake on all day in weather like this......at least the Transylvanians looked like that _naturally......._

The coffee room was, as ever, staffed with Vermars. Three of them were in the process of embezzling the next month's supply of Viennese Cinnamon Dark Roast while one stood lookout; Elle was just too tired and cross to say a word as they attempted to hide the vacuum-sealed foil bags of coffee behind their skinny little backs, and merely demanded a cup of whatever they'd left.

"Elle!" Iggy crowed, scuttling over to the burners. "What's with the Queen of the Undead outfit, baby?"

She flopped into a chair and removed the stiletto ankle boots. "Don't start with me," she warned the worm. "I've had to deal with the living pretending to be the dead _all day_."

Mannix 2 handed her some coffee. "Ah, you're undercover with that freak convention thingy," he said, understandingly, grinning. "Nice." 

Elle looked down at herself; she was dressed in clothes that wouldn't have embarrassed Serleena—painted-on black vinyl dress, fishnets, opera gloves. Her hair had been teased into a confection of black-dyed braids and her face made Neeble 2 and Gleeble, sitting on top of stolen coffee bags, want to ward off the Evil Eyeshadow. Despite herself, she grinned.

"You guys think it's me, huh?"

The worms were mesmerized by her torso. "Oh, yeah."

"Well, that's just too damn bad," she told them, "because there is no way in the sixteen cold hells that I am doing this again. Someone else is gonna have to go undercover."

Jay poked his head in the door and caught the end of the sentence. "Thank God," he said. "I've gone through some shit in the course of this job but I ain't _never_ wearing vinyl pants again." He disappeared down the corridor at speed, but not quite fast enough to evade the worms, who tore their gazes from Elle's chest and galloped off after him in the hope of getting some possible blackmail pictures. Elle had to laugh—the funny, unfair thing was that Jay looked even better in vinyl pants and a floppy black shirt than he did in the normal MIB uniform, which was saying quite a lot. She got up, wincing as her blistered feet yelled at her, and followed the sounds of carnage down the hall. That bloody song was running through her head again. _By the light of day I'm not much of a man....but by night I'm one hell of a lov-errrrrrrrr......_ She shook her head. A very bad training film, but there was something about Tim Curry in heels...........

Neither Kay nor Sea were in the main room, which surprised Elle. She'd have thought neither rain nor snow nor near-death at the hands of a peeved Mertagensian would keep Kay from his duty, and the same went for Sea—but nevertheless their desks were empty, and she shrugged as she walked on, ignoring the other agents' catcalls, to the locker rooms and the hope of a shower. Who could she convince to take over the undercover duty at the convention, she wondered. Who on earth would look even remotely convincing in those wretched clothes.......?

Sea woke to find herself not—as was often the case—curled in the passenger seat of Kay's LTD, nor yet slumped over her desk in the echoing headquarters hall, but in her own bed in her own apartment, with the TV on and the shower running.

Slowly images from the night before began to tabulate in her head, and an idiotic goony smile tugged at her mouth. She'd never broken so many departmental rules at once before, and certainly she couldn't remember having slept so deeply or so well since..............the accident.

She sat up, pulling the tumbled sheets around her, and squinted at the TV. It was still early, the Good Morning New York programs were on, flashing obscenely cheerful smiles at people whose jobs got them out of bed at five in the morning. They were showing scenes of a crowded hotel ballroom, full of people dressed in......

Ah. She paid attention. The dais at the far end of the hall was draped in black and purple with little pictures of skulls and coffins on it; signs on booths lining the room read "Spooky Press," "Dank Doom Darkness and Destruction Clothiers," and so on. They were clearly having some sort of keynote address, but before Sea could gather anything of importance, the picture cut back to the television studio and the cheery presenter smiling a rather thin smile. "Yes, folks, that's the exclusive GothiCon '02, going on at the Harborplace Marriott through this week. Many people don't understand this movement among today's young people, but I am assured by Dr. Guthrie Bloggs of the Sociological Institute that it is a harmless and natural phenomenon. In other news, sales of black wigs and fetish gear have rocketed and the NYPD is on alert for incidents like yesterday's so called vampire attack in the East Village."

_Vampire attack_? Sea reached for her cigarettes. _What the hell is going on? And what does all of this have to do with the assassinations we're expecting?_

"Vampire attack, my ass. Some dumb kid got carried away." She looked up. Kay, already impeccably dressed minus jacket and tie, toweling his hair, was leaning against the doorframe and regarding the TV sourly. "_She_'s had a nice new rejuvenation treatment," he said, indicating Summer Gleason, the presenter. "When she landed here back in 1975 she looked just like that. Hasn't even bothered to change her hairstyle."

"Good morning to you too," she said, grinning. Kay was always bitching about age, generally his. He transferred his gaze to her, and his scowl turned into a grin. "When'd you wake up?"

"Half an hour ago," he told her. "Coffee?"

She squinted."What have you done to it?"

He sat down on the bed with a long-suffering sigh. "Nothing. You don't even have coffee sugar, you horrible woman."

"I wasn't expecting company," she said, sliding out of bed and stretching. He watched, running an appreciative gaze down the marimba of ribs thus displayed. "Maybe I should have Iggy steal me some Bavarian Hazelnut Boysenberry Grapefruit, or whatever it is this week." 

He chuckled. "Salzburg Tunafish Mandheling, I should think. Zed's getting a bit exploratory in his tastes, even for me."

"You?" She grinned. "You are the man, are you not, who yesterday purchased with a straight face a cup of something called 'Gottingen Raspberry Mocha French Vanilla Double Latte'?"

"That," said Kay, "is classified."

Some time later he let her go and she got her cup of coffee—plain, ordinary, non-European coffee—and was allowed to assume some clothes. She wasn't surprised when he gave her black lace undies a considering look—that was more or less expected, with Freddie's of Hollywood foundation garments, her only vanity—but she wasn't expecting the professional frown. "What?" she asked. "You don't like?"

"I like," he mused, "but I'm thinking that perhaps we're on the wrong track here." He gave her a cryptic, measuring look and got up, rummaging through her underwear drawers, completely ignoring her startled cries of protest. "Ah," he said, pulling something out. "Here. Put this on."

It was one of her oldest possessions, something she'd picked up in the heady, stupid days of college, which she'd only kept because of a few beer-sodden memories that clung to it. A black satin lace-up corset top, vintage Bettie Page stuff, with spring-steel boning and eyelets from which the chrome was beginning to flake. It crushed her waist down to nothing and made her secondary sexual characteristics stand to attention, and she hadn't worn it in years and years and years, and she couldn't for the life of her imagine why Kay wanted her to put it on now. _Kinky_.

Nevertheless she suffered herself to be squashed and lifted and adjusted and laced into the garment, pulling the old bootlaces as tight as she could, and gave him a questioning stare. "What?"

He swallowed; she could see the bruising on his throat move as the muscles worked. "You haven't by any chance got any really stupid shoes? And a garter belt?"

"What the hell is all this about?" she demanded. "I mean, if you want me to dress up like a cheap Fifties whore, just ask."

He impaled her with a look and reached for his coffee. "Don't be stupid. If I were motivated by prurient interest, you'd already know."

She had to admit that one. "Okay, but what are you getting at?"

"Shoes." He pointed to the wardrobe. 

Some time later, she stood in front of a full-length mirror, arrayed in an old pair of dance fishnets, a garter belt, the corset, a black velvet skirt she'd meant to throw away because of the rips in it, her old clubbing stilettos, and a trenchcoat. Kay was frowning thoughtfully at her. "You can do the makeup, of course," he muttered. "Yeah. It's a lot more convincing than Elle."

"Kay," she said with steel in her voice (and, it felt like, in her spleen), "my ribs are killing me. What is this all about?"

"You haven't figured it out? You're going undercover."

Her jaw dropped. Kay gave her a quick smile, tilting his head, and closed her mouth with a finger. "This is a better look for you. And try to look excitingly bored and obsessed with vampires, would you?"

He marched her into headquarters. The clove cigarette in its long black holder was making her feel a trifle dizzy, but it was nothing to the looks she was getting from every other agent in the place. She felt rather as if she was wearing the Emperor's New Clothes. Kay's little understated smile didn't help. From all around them she caught fragments of whispers—_who is she? what the hell is he doing? that's not...._—and her mind reeled under the onslaught of both simple, disinterested lust and deep red curiosity. She scowled fiercely at Kay, who was walking next to her with his famous impassive look in place, and hissed, "I'm gonna get you for this. You know that, don't you."

Out of the corner of his mouth he hissed back "I can't imagine what you mean......Oh, hi, boss. What do you think?"

Zed had come out of the locker rooms just ahead and was staring, like everyone else, only his stare quickly turned into a wide, satisfied grin. "You've done it again, old friend," he said, slapping Kay warmly on the back. "Never woulda thought of it."

"Thought of _what_?" she demanded. Just then someone else came out of the locker rooms and her mouth slid open again; it was Elle, but an Elle so thoroughly out of place that it was tantamount to seeing a Supreme Court Justice flitting around in a pink tutu. The other woman wore a long black sheath dress that flared at the knees and had long bell sleeves dragging on the ground; her white makeup and black lips were livid in the unforgiving light of the main hall, and her hands looked unpleasantly square with their two-inch-long black claws. Elle gasped.

"Zed," she said, "this is what you want. I'll just go get changed. She can have the dress."

Slowly and painfully Sea began to understand. The pictures she'd seen of the guests of honour at the GothiCon convention had included a short, buxom woman with a wasp-waist whose outfit had clearly been ripped off Vampira's in _Plan 9 from Outer Space_, a thin girl with short blood-red hair and plucked 1930s eyebrows in a black vinyl ballgown and a blonde woman in a dark corset, garters, fishnets, stilettos and way too much makeup—the twin, she realized, of the outlandish reflection she'd seen in her own full-length mirror that morning. She was being costumed as an important GothiCon participant, and she was being sent in under what might well prove to be considerable enemy fire.

Later, in the makeup department hastily put together by some of the costume experts, she smoked pointedly and made mental lists of nasty things to do to Kay when next she got him alone. They'd glued fake eyelashes onto her, painted her face pale, slid her into a version of Elle's dress that laced up the front under the corset, and given her black patent leather stiletto boots and a vinyl cloak (these last had necessitated an emergency requisitions trip to the East Village). She was due at the convention in half an hour as "Lady Sepulchravia de Mortuis," and she was ordered not, under any circumstances, to smile at anyone whatsoever. She wasn't sure she could, actually, since the lipstick she was wearing might crack if she tried. The wig was itching, as was the garter belt. She fished in her cleavage for the little pocket recorder, making sure it was there. The Cricket and her communicator were also shoved down the bodice of the dress, and she was reminded of their presence every time she tried to take a deep breath. _How the hell do these kids stand dressing up like this? It's like being in an Iron Maiden._

At last they were finished, and she got to her feet with a creak of pressurized steel, swirling the cloak around her shoulders. The training film—if that's what it really was—had put her in a bizarre frame of mind, and as she took the elevator down to the main hall floor, turning to face the little group waiting for her, she felt a strange urge to break out into song. _How d'you do, I........see you've met my......faithful handyman......._

Instead she stuck her nose in the air, lit another black cigarette, and stalked toward them, her hips swaying rhythmically in an effort to stay balanced atop the five-inch heels. She felt a right pillock, but it was difficult to twist her features into any expression besides the bored impatience they'd been painted into.

What they saw—was something from the fevered imaginations of Lovecraft, Le Fanu, Stoker, Shelley, Wood and possibly Romero; a woman in black, all black, her white skin alight with an unhealthy pearlescence, her figure impossible, a wasp-waisted silhouette swaying toward them with slow sensual inexorability, her face a delicate and eggshell-perfect nightmare of life in death, her eyes alight with chilly and distant unknowable knowledge, her hands elegant bone, the nails long and curved and pointed as talons, her sharp heels tapping out a slow rhythm on the stone. She was the queen of all the darknesses ever cast; she walked in beauty like the night, she was the sweetness of death. She paused, black draperies swaying around her, menace and intrigue and unutterable beauty swirling in an invisible cloud, and said in a cross Brooklyn accent "Don't get strung out by the way I look, would you? And can someone kindly get me an Excedrin, this perfume is giving me a headache."

Elle shook herself and blinked, grinning, as the men tried to get themselves under control. "You look amazing, Sea," she remarked, giving the corset an exploratory poke, "and you are a much, much braver woman than I. Here, you'll want these." She handed Sea....Lady Sepulchravia....a ridiculous little evening bag, black silk and beads, containing a neuralyzer, one of the agency's _cartes noir_ and an onyx-and-silver case containing more of the black clove cigarettes. "You know the drill, right? Your life is a dark pit of darkness, you are elegantly and impossibly miserable, your sadness is eternal, you thrive in the dark, you're only happy when it rains, your favourite flowers are Erik's roses that bloom only in darkness, etcetera."

She couldn't help it, she grinned, despite the feeling of things cracking on her face. "And I am forever alone in my dark solitude, yeah?"

"You got it." Elle turned to Jay, Kay and Zed, all of whom were still staring like fools. She snapped her fingers a couple of times. "Guys. We're ready to roll. Kay, you cover the outside, Jay, you're with me as backup. We're cool, boss." She led them off toward the motor hall, leaving Zed staring mesmerized at Lady Sepulchravia's retreating ass. "Oh, and Kay," Elle added, mildly, "you better do something real _nice_ for her, after this."

Kay didn't bother to reply. He was still staring. In the car, she was forced to snap her own fingers in front of his face to get him to pay attention to the road. "Oi," she said. "Drive."

He shook himself. "Yeah."

Part of her was a bit flattered, part of her was puzzled, but a lot of her was still very cross at him for getting her into this whole deal, no matter how good he thought she looked in this Vampirella crap. She longed for her comfortable uniform and her sunglasses; she felt as if she was carrying a big sign saying _Look At Me, I'm Undercover_. They drove in silence all the way to the Marriott.

Kay parked by the front awning, and looked over at her again, his dark eyes utterly unreadable. "Sea," he said roughly. "I...."

"Shh," she said, leaning over and kissing him very quickly and lightly, so as not to screw up her lipstick, and was gone.


	3. I have traveled ohshuns of time to be vi...

The feeling of standing out like a sore thumb disappeared immediately once she was inside the hotel; everyone, even the porters and the hotel clerks, was dressed more or less as she was, with varying levels of success. People stared, but their stares felt more like appreciation of a fellow enthusiast than astonishment at a freak. She began to enjoy herself, a tiny little bit, and swept up to the receptionist, holding out her _carte noir_; it squirmed in her hand and turned into a business card saying _Lady Sepulchravia de Mortuis, Artist and Authoress_.

The receptionist's eyes ran over her with awe, and she was quickly handed a grey-on-black nametag with a little design of skulls and bones on it, a ticket entitling the bearer to one free drink at the Last Bar, and a calendar of events. Silently she flicked a glance at the receptionist, running a long nail down the events for that day, and the girl—who couldn't have been more than sixteen, with a healthy case of acne—jumped as if she'd been reprimanded and pointed out the lecture that was currently going on in the Ballroom. "It's 'Vampirism Through the Ages'," she was told, with deference. 

Vampirism Through the Ages was popular, almost packed, but by dint of keeping her nose in the air and looking down it, Sea found the crowds opening up around her. She found a seat near the front and turned on the hidden recorder, sitting back to look around and try to figure out who was in for an assassination attempt. For her money, everyone here could use some assassination; this was a kind of obnoxious pretentiousness that made her want to shake its practitioners till their fangies fell out. She resigned herself to a long, long day.

In the Last Bar, hung with black and purple crepe paper and little sigils of bats, castles and Iron Crosses, Prince Radu Florescu the Handsome, last scion of the Transylvanian ruling line, sat and drank reconstituted blood through a straw. His equerry and his consort flanked him, both of them holding large black swords. "But why here?" said the equerry, or perhaps the consort. They were having an argument they'd been having for months now.

"Because it's an apolitical zone," said His Highness, slurping down the last dregs of blood. "Because we've already got a wide following here, because it's got an atmosphere that only gives us mild hives, and because I kinda like some of these Earth chicks."

"Earth girls are easy," said the consort, or perhaps the equerry. They looked almost identical, both of them in long black raggedy robes with lace trim and silver chains of office. Both had long black hair with silver streaks, and both wore a great deal of makeup, although not as much as His Highness. 

"That's as may be," said the Prince and swung himself off the bar stool. "Deal with it. We're here. It's only for a week."

"Your Highness," said one of them, "we are concerned for your safety."

"What are you talking about?" said His Highness, grinning. It was a good grin; it showed teeth that formed the basis for many of the plastic replicas sold in vinyl-centric accessory stores. "They love me here. They love _us_. I mean, have you _read_ some of this stuff?" He tossed a large gilt volume to the other one, who was probably the equerry, on the balance of probability and the lack of noticeable breasts. The name on the cover was that of a popular writer of vampire stories. "I mean, check that out, it's so complimentary!"

The equerry and the consort exchanged black-rimmed glances. "Your Highness, of course they appreciate you, but we were not referring to the natives of this planet. They're unimportant."

"Come on," said the Prince, adjusting his velvet leggings, "one's public is always important."

"Yes, of course, but our meaning was that it is not the terrans you should be concerned about. It is the......_other_ races who may pose a danger."

"Your Highness is not exactly.....popular........in our neighboring galaxies," murmured the consort, her eyes downcast. "Remember the incident with the Brotherhood of Khi?"

The Prince's beautiful eyes flashed with brief anger. "The religious crackpots? They were a bunch of crazed monks who had some confused idea that Transylvania posed a moral threat."

The equerry made a noise which he hurriedly turned into a cough. "May I remind Your Highness that this planet is not without its, er, religious crackpots. I refer to the furor among the terrans when that so-called informational video was released to the public.....Your Highness is familiar with it, I believe."

"Ah, yes," said the Prince, licking his teeth. "That's the one with the terrans pretending to be us, yes? The tall one with the accent was really rather good, I thought." 

The equerry seemed to have something stuck in his throat, so it was the consort who continued. "Yes, Your Highness. Of course, it was sadly inaccurate, but our methods and our ideals have changed since those days. Even then, there was a strong terran movement against everything they considered to do with us and our beliefs. This movement isn't limited to this planet, Your Highness; you must understand that this has not changed."

"You worry too much," said the Prince, absently patting his equerry on the back. "I'm sure everything will be fine. Let's go and see how the Gown Contest is going, hmm?"

Lady Sepulchravia had withstood every effort to get her to join the other selected participants on the dais, but when the Prince and his entourage showed up, she was forced to take her place with the others; there were simply too many people pulling her. She kept the look of bored supercilious displeasure on her face, because it was painted there, but she was secretly having nasty flashbacks to her days in high school when the Homecoming Court was chosen—there had been one awful time when she had been dragged up there in her poofy home-made dress, as a joke—and she had only just managed not to cry.

However, this time the sea of white-painted faces staring up at her were transfixed with admiration, not with mirth, and she had to admit there was something really attractive about the tall young man with the feathery black hair who'd just come into the room and was making his way up the centre aisle. He was heading for the dais, along with the rest of the room, and his eyes were fixed firmly on her.

She wondered who the hell he was, but luckily someone in crushed velvet and leather at the end of the table stood up and tapped a microphone for silence. "His Royal Highness Prince Radu Florescu the Handsome," he announced in a voice choked with admiration. All the other chosen ones rose as the Prince approached the dais. Lady Sepulchravia found herself adjusting her cleavage self-consciously, and hurriedly turned to inspect the rank of her fellow finalists. She hadn't known—no one had bothered to tell her—that in her outfit she was quite likely to be chosen to participate in the Gown Contest; the other participants had certainly been aware of this possibility, and had banked on it. She counted four willowy young Draculae—or at least four willowy young men, wearing makeup applied with varying levels of skill and poofy shirts not unlike those worn by the better class of consumptive poet—and a number of undernourished-looking girls in tight black vinyl and lace. There was one girl whose hair looked naturally black, quite long and thick and attractive, and with surprising taste she had decided to point this out by wearing _white_. It was a very over-romanticized sort of white, the kind of lacy frilly gown one wears to be seduced by tortured phantoms and unscrupulous vampires, but it was nevertheless white, and the young woman wearing it was drawing a considerable fraction of the gazes in the hall. For her own part, Lady Sepulchravia contented herself with taking long deep breaths and watching people change colour as they glanced at her torso. _I'm beginning to understand some of this_, she thought, as wave upon wave of desperate self-consciousness from all over the hall battered at her mind. _These people are so afraid of being unpopular that they strive to be unpopular together, and they have considerable fantasy lives._ It was extremely sad. 

She closed off her mind as much as she could, still aware of the waves of loneliness, of lust and fear, and turned her attention to the Prince. He was slowly walking down the front of the dais, inspecting the contestants one by one. She was dimly aware of a dark red mind close to her own, but it wasn't until he turned and she met his eyes at close range that she fully understood what he was.

_I get it now. All the stories, all the films, all the tales about their mesmerizing, hypnotizing eyes, the way they can suck out your mind before they ever get close enough to taste your blood.........._She swallowed, all her spurious self-confidence falling apart under the onslaught of those dark-red eyes. _And I get why they're such an old story, and why they were so popular in their other guise, when people lined up for blocks to get into a midnight showing of a lousy movie spoof, why people long to dress up as them, to act like them, to take on one little tiny fraction of that power_..........

He was standing directly in front of her. She forced herself to look up at him, to meet his eyes. Her mind felt like a dam full of holes trying to withstand the ocean; she could _feel_ him picking at her shields, distantly interested in the difference between her and the others around her. _I get why they've got so many enemies._

"Who are you?" he asked, and his voice was as lovely as she'd expected, pitched low and rich and velvety, a voice that could command without even raising its tone. She set her jaw and remembered her name.

"Lady Sepulchravia de Mortuis, Your Highness," she said flatly. A spark of something came and went in those eyes. The probing at her shields intensified, giving her the beginnings of a headache. Suddenly she was furious—at the alien standing in front of her without bothering to disguise himself, at this roomful of idiots wanting to be just like him, unaware they were nothing more than feeder mice to a beautiful snake, at herself for getting sucked into it, and at Kay for getting her into it in the first place—and she reached out with her mind, anger giving her strength, and shoved his probes away.

For a moment his eyes blazed red, actually giving out a small amount of visible light, and then a look of genuine admiration came into his face. He raised her hand to his lips—so cold they burned—and murmured, "Enchanted, my lady." Then he was gone, and he was out of her head, and she almost swayed with the shock of that freedom. The willowy dracula beside her put out a steadying arm, for which she was grateful. The other women on the line gave her nasty looks.

She found herself wondering if she _wanted_ to stop this............thing.........from being assassinated, and just as quickly knew the answer to that. 

She did not win the costume contest, of course; that went to the girl in white. But she did find the equerry and the consort deftly detaching her from the crowd of convention-goers as the contest broke up and lunch was announced. She gave them her best look of haughty disregard, trying to figure out if one of them was female, and if so, which. 

"His Highness wishes to speak to you," one of them told her. "He is intrigued."

_Bully for him_. She had just realized why these two made her feel so strange: she couldn't read them at all, not even when she took down the shields and made a concerted effort. _Probably because they have to be around him,_ she thought. _I'd have iron shields too if I hung out with His Highness for very long_. As it was, she fed a little more strength into the shields she already had up. It wouldn't be pleasant having him pry at them, but it would be even less pleasant having him poking around in her mind.

They led her down a corridor and out of the main convention area, into a suite lavishly appointed with earthly luxuries and—even to her untrained eye—hastily redecorated in shades of black and red. His Highness lounged on an enormous black-draped bed and looked up as they came in. Again she was conscious of the power of those extraordinary dark-red eyes, and had to make an effort to remember who she was: Agent Sea, MIB Special Forces, here to try and figure out who was going to attempt to kill this....er...

"Ah," said the Transylvanian, rising and dismissing the two interchangeable companions, "my dear Lady Sepulchravia." He kissed her hand again, and she could feel that dark-red tide beating against her mind. Crossly she sat down, uninvited, in one of the black Louis Quinze chairs. 

"Your Highness," she said."I must speak to you."

"Of course," he said, pouring himself a glass of something red. "May I offer you a drink?"

She raised an eyebrow. "No, thank you. My iron levels are perfectly all right."

He stared for a moment and then gave her a completely unaffected smile. "You're sharp, my lady. What's on your mind?"

"Can't you tell? You've been poking at it ever since you saw me." She was amazed how rude it sounded, but he wasn't offended.

"Yes, I have, which is why I asked them to bring you to me. You don't seem like the typical GothiCon participant. I can't quite read you. Everyone else on that line was an open book." He clearly wasn't going to admit what she already knew—that he was not of this world. He'd rather let that be taken for granted.

"I'm not," she admitted, lighting one of the black cigarettes absently. "I'm....." He was looking at her; it felt like little invisible hands walking all over her body, looking for cracks in her armour. "Your Highness, would you kindly stop doing that and listen to me with your _ears_. Sorry, auditory receptors."

He blinked, and the invisible hands went away. "Thank you. As I was saying, I'm here with a slightly different purpose than most of your adoring public. You're in danger."

He laughed, a low musical laugh. "Your concern is misplaced, _cherie_."

"No," she sighed, having run out of options, "it isn't." She rummaged around in her cleavage and pulled out the universal translator, tapped it twice, and said in perfect Transylvanian (with only the hint of a time delay) "One assassin has already been neutralized. Two more are still at large."

She was treated to the interesting spectacle of seeing a born-and-bred goth go pale. It was closer to blue-grey than pale, actually, but it was still fascinating. He took a long pull at his drink, and a faint bloom of colour came back to his face. "Who _are_ you?" he demanded.

Sea held out her _carte noir_, and it became her MIB ID, listing her credentials in seven different interstellar languages. Prince Radu took it between thumb and forefinger, glancing from the file photo to her painted face. 

"By the blood of my most holy ancestors," he said dryly, "you lot _have_ come on a bit. Last time I was on this planet you went around in hideous black suits and your undercover agents were about as convincing as some of the large youths I've seen today trying to look consumptive. You have my congratulations, Agent Sea; you wouldn't look out of place on my planet."

"Thanks, but I have to repeat, you're in danger. I was sent in today to check out the convention and try to find out who's behind these attempts......we've had several weapons purchased on-planet in the past week, clearly for assassinations...and to protect you and your people."

The Prince leaned back on the bed, regarding her thoughtfully. "I hardly think it's that dangerous," he said. "Look at how many people there are downstairs just dying to get a glimpse of me. I'm a celebrity---all my people are celebrities here. No one's going to try and assassinate me with so many devoted witnesses."

Sea dragged hard on the cigarette, once more reassured that males all over the universe were really as thick as she thought they were. "Your Highness—"

"Radu, please," he interrupted, again using the silk-and-cream voice she found irritatingly effective.

"—Radu, your popularity isn't in question here; but you must know that certain factions find Transylvanians in general to be.....objectionable, shall we say? Even here, even once your people had left the planet back in the seventies, there was considerable ill-feeling toward those who had followed the Transylvanian credo. The film made to commemorate the events surrounding that encounter has been banned from some theatres. Religious people all over Earth have a strong dislike for anything that smacks of....hedonism, or of what they consider perverse sexual practices, and you have to understand that the beliefs your people shared with us back in the seventies could easily be seen as.....perverse."

A tiny wrinkle marred the perfection of the Prince's brow. "Perverse?"

_Give me patience,_ she thought sourly. "I don't know enough about that landing to judge the accuracy of the film, but some of the events and attitudes in it were extremely offensive to certain factions of humanity. Homosexual encounters, for instance, have always been controversial, as have images of males dressing in female clothing and wearing makeup."

The Prince batted his perfectly mascara-ed lashes. "I can't imagine why."

She shrugged. "It's just the way things are on this planet; people are afraid of what is different. Moreover, several of the main religions condemn homoeroticism. And the way you are now—this whole beauty-of-the-night bit—also rubs some of our religions the wrong way; they think that being so morbidly obsessed with death and misery is blasphemous. That's not the point. The point is that you have enemies both on and off this planet, and we have already apprehended one Mertagensian mercenary with a weapon of mass destruction. We believe you, or someone in your delegation, was the target of the intended attack."

Prince Radu sighed. "This is so tiresome. I'd just begun to enjoy myself."

"I'm sorry, but it's my job to monitor and police alien activity on this planet, and to ensure that it remains an apolitical zone—which means I can't stand aside and let this take care of itself. Please, Your H.......Radu, you must agree to our protection until the threat is over."

Radu looked at her with lazy scarlet eyes. "It's only for a week. And I'm not without protection of my own, my dear Agent."

She gritted her teeth. "Am I to take it that you are refusing to comply with my superiors?"

He reached out and tipped up her chin with a finger. "Such hard words for such a lovely woman. Surely you can trust me to take care of myself? I'm a big boy now, you know, Agent Sea."

She slammed down mental shields over the thoughts that threatened to escape—thoughts which might possibly start a war—and put on an ingratiating smile. Maybe she could play his game, to some extent. It was worth a try. 

Taking a deep breath, despite the dull pain of the multiple items down her front biting into her flesh, she slid towards him and looked up into his eyes with a wide innocent stare. "Yes," she breathed, "but I........you....I couldn't bear to think of anything happening to you....Radu."

As she had vaguely expected, the crimson eyes flickered brighter for a moment, then veiled themselves again. He put a chilly hand to her cheek, drawing her closer. "I often have that effect on women, my dear," he informed her, his fingers tracing the curve of her cheekbone. "You look so excitingly flushed. Is that all concern for me?"

Mentally she added Radu to the list of people for whom she was planning nasty things. "I.....don't understand.....I only just met you," she faltered, trying to remember her horror movies as she made her bosom heave enticingly. "It's as if I've known you all along."

His sparkling grin widened. _Any moment now_, she thought, _he's going to say "I have traveled oceans of time to be with you_._"_ She was beginning to wish she hadn't started this. "Of course, my dear," he murmured. "I feel the same way."

"And......oh, please, Radu....I know your people are watching over you........please....I'm so frightened that something's going to happen....." She took the plunge and buried her face in his pristine shirtfront, hoping that the makeup department had put enough fixative on her skin to keep the foundation from rubbing off. His arms encircled her; one hand crushed her face against his chest, while his other hand crept down her back, exploring. She hoped the wig wouldn't come off. "Please......I beg of you.....you must leave this place.....you are in terrible danger." _Now I'm doing every bad Forties thriller._ _Is it working_?

Radu pressed his cold lips to her forehead. _Nope. He just wants some. _She tried another tack, edging down a few shields and pouring energy into her mindtouch, prepared this time for the onslaught of the alien's mind. _Please,_ she ventured, filling the contact with desperate concern and what dregs of affection she could muster. _I can't bear to think of you in danger..._

Radu's warm red mind surrounded her, filling her, drowning her. It was like being drunk on undiluted Roman wine, like being wrapped in silk velvet and floating in thin fragrant oil. She fought for control, managed to slam down her last shields and hang in the red darkness while still recognizably herself. All around her the crimson voice was gently plucking at her mind. _Of course you cannot....you are mine now........_


	4. Confrontations

Later, she would protest that she was completely under control when it happened, that it was only his physical presence and not his mindtouch that had prevented her from acting sooner, but nobody really believed her. As it was, she only just had enough presence of mind left to wrench herself out of his embrace, leaving behind the wig and quite a lot of the bodice, and shove him off the edge of the bed out of the line of fire before the door of the suite banged open and a blast from a Carbonizer singed the air. 

She had the Cricket out of her cleavage and trained on the figure in the doorway before Radu, sprawled in an unprincely heap on the floor, could get out his first oath. "Drop your weapon!" she yelled at the UT, which spat out her command in a variety of languages. "You're under arrest for violation of sections four through nineteen of the Tycho Accords, failure to register your weapon with MIB upon purchase, discharging an illegal weapon within city limits, and threatening the life of....I said _drop it_!" She cocked her wrist and fired a warning shot from the Cricket. Normally this caused perps to think twice before resisting arrest, but this guy clearly wasn't bright enough to be considered normal. He flung himself into the room and got off one more blast before her next shot removed his head and most of his torso.

Radu's eyes were open so wide she could see white all around the scarlet. She stuck out an arm and caught the dead guy's Carbonizer as it fell, tucking her Cricket back into its makeshift bra holster, and opened a channel to Kay. "Shots fired," she said flatly. "One assassin down. I've got the Carbonizer."

"Are you all right?" Kay demanded.

"I'm fine." She scowled down at Radu, who was still looking up at her with wide unbelieving eyes. "Your Highness, are you hurt?"

"No," he managed. She nodded curtly, aware of how wonderful it was to be free of that goddamn wig.

"Target unharmed. Send in the backup to search the building." She snapped the communicator shut and held out a hand to the sprawled Prince. "Come on," she said, "will you kindly believe me now? We have to get you out of here. I've no idea how many others there are in the building."

He pulled himself to his full height and looked down at her. "You," he began. "You...."

"Your Highness, with all due respect, we don't have time for this." She checked the power level on the dead assassin's Carbonizer, which still had Jeebs's price tag dangling from the trigger guard. This looked like a really, really badly organized job. The guy sent to plug Radu was.....human.

She turned him over with her toe and ran a trace analyzer over what was left of the corpse. Definitely human. A quick search of the body came up with nothing beyond the fact that he'd clearly gotten one of the waiters' uniforms from the hotel and had carefully removed all ID from it before putting it on. Not much to find there. She cocked the Carbonizer and gestured to Prince Radu to follow her out of the room. As they hurried down through the hotel, she demanded, "Who do you suppose wants you dead this badly, Your Highness?"

He was rather more attractive without the invisible waves of seduction, she thought; he looked young and pale and out of his depth, but his scarlet eyes seemed alive, and he looked less like an insufferable young Anne Rice hero and more like a stranger in what must now seem like a very strange land. "I....." He cleared his throat and began again in a deeper voice. "I can't imagine."

"Oh, come off it, sir, please. Where is your staff?"

Radu made a face. "I don't know, I sent them away."

Sea pulled out her communicator again. "We're approaching the rear entrance. Search the hotel for two medium height Transylvanians, both in black lace robes with chains of office, black hair, silver streaks." She heard Kay relaying the orders to the other agents who were now in the building, and snapped the device shut. No sign of any further assassins. It was a clear run to the back entrance, and she knew Kay would be waiting in the alley with the car. 

She took hold of Radu's arm and ran for it. They were almost to the door when another mind flickered against hers. She became aware only just in time that someone was there around the corner, someone _who could shield better than Radu_ and whose mind was sick and cold with malevolence....she'd felt nothing, no presence until they were right there—and with the cold realization that she'd never be able to aim the heavy Carbonizer in time to make the shot before whoever-it-was could fire, she threw herself against Radu and knocked him out of the way. In the same instant the shot took her in the shoulder and spun her around, throwing her all the way back against the far wall. The Carbonizer fell from her hands. _Fuck_, she was thinking, somewhere inside the pain. _Fucked up again._ Then there was another shot, and then nothing.

Kay was disregarding the no-smoking-indoors rule and had been doing so for some time, judging by the number of cigarette butts littering the hallway. No one had quite had the nerve to say anything to him about it. He was leaning against the wall outside the glass doors into the medical bay, arms folded, as impassive as a rock except for the furious glow and fade of his cigarette. 

Elle and Jay glanced at him as they escorted Prince Radu from the medical wing. Company policy required comprehensive checkups for anyone involved in a firefight of the sort he'd been in; he didn't have a scratch on his ivory hide, however, and he had kept insisting as much. Kay hadn't said a word to him, and didn't look as if he intended to start now. Prince Radu had other plans. He gently freed himself from Elle's grip.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice pitched low and elegant, with overtones of cream and rose petals. "You are Agent Sea's partner, are you not?"

Kay gave him a look that made even Jay wince, and nodded once. His Highness, undaunted, carried on. "I wish to express my admiration and gratitude for her heroic actions in saving my life."

Elle put a hand on the Prince's arm. "Your Highness, perhaps now is not the most, um, opportune time," she said, as Kay slowly dropped his cigarette end and crushed it under his heel. The Prince, who apparently had the same instinct for self-preservation as a disabled gnat in a blowtorch flame, took a step closer to Kay and brushed his long feathery black hair out of his face, looking into the human's eyes with an expression of innocent sympathy on his face. 

"Agent.....Kay, isn't it?.....you should be proud of your partner."

The look on Kay's face made both agents back away a bit. He lit another cigarette."Yes," he said. "I am. I am also grateful to you, Your Highness, for your quick thinking."

Elle felt herself go white; the words, while perfectly courteous, were so slick with venom it was as if Kay had used the foullest language he knew. Her face felt hot. "Your Highness, please come with us," she heard herself say. "We still need to ask you some questions."

The Transylvanian's red eyes didn't leave Kay's face as he murmured "Of course. Forgive me," and let himself be led away. Kay remained where he was, leaning against the wall, impassive, but the cigarette end he dropped to the floor was bitten almost in half. 

Hours later the duty surgeon came and found him in the canteen, alone except for the overflowing ashtray and the coffee cup beside him. Word traveled quickly in the agency; it was already known that Sea had been hurt in the attack on Prince Radu's life and that Kay was a trifle concerned about his partner, and everyone had carefully left him the hell alone. Kay was a founding father in the MIB and deserved respect purely because of his long history of excellent work, but he was also not a man who dealt well with emotionally trying situations, and nobody wanted to be on the receiving end of an emotionally tried Kay Look. Zed was the only one who'd spoken to him since he'd finally moved from the medical bay doors, and that only to tell him that the doctors said she would be all right. 

Now, the duty surgeon approached him with considerable diffidence. Kay looked up, his eyes unreadable, as the man drew close. "Well?" he demanded.

"She's going to be fine," the surgeon said. "The shot went clean through, didn't even break her arm. We had to do a bit of careful vascular repair, but there's no major damage, and it'll heal cleanly."

Kay's impassive look cracked a bit round the edges. "Let me see her."

The surgeon only hesitated very briefly. Protocol insisted that post-surgical patients weren't allowed visitors for twenty-four hours, but there was in fact very little he could do to stop Kay if he chose to ignore this rule. "Follow me."

She had come to in a world of white—white ceiling, glowing roundels of whiter white, pale curtains all around her, a white smell of antiseptic and plastic in the air. There was no pain; rather, her head was full of a thick fuzzy cotton-wool feeling that meant she was heavily drugged against the pain, and her left shoulder and arm were stiffly held in place with yards and yards of bandage. She wiggled her fingers and was glad to know that she still seemed to have all ten of them. 

Reaching out with a mind that felt bruised and shaken, she reassured herself that she was back home in headquarters; the building had a strange kind of mental signature that she'd vaguely attributed to the constant working of so many different types of mind so close together, which was immediately recognizable. _I wonder who got me out,_ she thought. _Wonder if they shot him? Serve him bloody right for delaying me so long..........giving them a chance to start the attack......_

But of course it wasn't fair to blame the Transylvanian. It had been her error that had gotten her shot; her failure to anticipate, to notice the danger before it was too late. It was all her own damn fault, and if Prince Radu was dead, that was her fault as well. _What the hell am I gonna do? If I let a visiting royal get assassinated right in front of me when I was specifically sent in to protect him.........._

She let the thought go and drifted, wearily, aware of the shock chemicals still sluggish in her bloodstream. 

Some time later she came out of the whiteness again to find her head splitting in agony and her shoulder beginning to join in with glee. It wasn't all physical pain, though. She looked up, aware of what she'd see before she could blink away the drifting whiteness. "Hello," she croaked. "Did he get away?"

The duty surgeon tactfully withdrew. Kay fell into the plastic egg chair beside her bed and took her good hand in his, hard enough to hurt. "Sea," he said roughly, just as he had before she'd minced into the hotel in the first place. "Sea. Oh God."

She realized that a lot of her headache was because of him; his mind felt like a thunderstorm, swirling and shot with anger and fear. "It's all right," she said inadequately. "They fixed me. I'm okay now."

He didn't say anything, merely held her hand in both of his. She could feel him fighting for control, and as gently as she could she reached out with a clumsy tendril of energy and sent him a pulse of comfort and strength. He gasped, and looked up from her hand, and met her eyes. "Kay," she said tiredly. "It's really all right. I just screwed up and let my guard down."

"I thought......." he began, staring at her as if he couldn't quite believe she was there. "I thought you were _dead_, you idiot, you were just lying there covered in blood and that Radu individual was waving a Carbonizer around and trying to look like Rambo and not answering me and....."

She couldn't help smiling a bit at the thought of the Prince with a gun in his hands, especially a nasty-looking bit of hardware like a reverberating carbonizer with mutate capacity. "What.......happened? I remember grabbing the Prince and making for the exit—and I only realized too late that someone was around the corner.....I think I managed to knock the Prince out of the way before they fired...."

Kay swallowed hard. "Yes," he said. "You took a .45 slug through your shoulder. As far as I can make out, your friend the Prince had enough presence of mind to grab the Carbonizer and fire at your assailant, who managed to escape, dropping his weapon. I.....came on the scene a few seconds later."

"Oh, God," she said. "You thought............you didn't think Radu shot me, did you?"

"No," he said, and she was absurdly pleased to hear the edge of irritation in his voice, "of course I didn't, I can tell the difference between a Terran gunshot wound and the kind of wholesale destruction you get with a Carbonizer blast. But....you have to understand you looked _dead_.......you were so white and there was so much blood......." He trailed off, rather white himself.

"Must've hit the brachial artery," she murmured thoughtfully. "No tendons cut?"

Kay made a little wordless noise. "Would you stop being so goddamn _clinical!_ I have been scared out of my fucking mind for the past five hours, Sea. I thought you were going to _die_. I thought I was going to lose you, too. When you went into that goddamn hotel dressed up like the Queen of the Damned I....was about to tell you that I..."

__

"........love you, Kay," she said dizzily, looking up at him. The whiteness was coming back in waves. "Did anyone ever tell you you're really handsome when you're mad?" she inquired.

Kay had more self-control than most human males, but there are limits. He reached down and took her head firmly between his hands. "Shut up," he told her, and kissed her savagely. The rhythmic beeping of the ECG monitor jerked and sped up. Slowly her good hand crept up to the back of his neck, pulling him firmly toward her. He reached out, without pausing in his task, and clicked off the monitors one by one.

(stay tuned for more)


	5. The Very Short Fifth Chapter

Prince Radu was bored. Bored Transylvanians are bad news; bored Transylvanians to whom some well-meaning idiot has given a pad of paper and a pencil are a menace. He was in the middle of writing a sestina about gloom and despair, with some elegantly Byronic hints of romance. Elle and Jay had left him alone in the employee lounge while they discussed the case with Zed, and His Highness had promised them a personal recitation of his best works on their return. They seemed to be taking an unconscionably long time in Zed's office. Ah, well. He wondered what rhymed with "fulgurous." _Batrachian_ and _squamous_ were hard enough. Hey, "squamous" and "fulgurous" were close enough to match.

Earth girls _were_ easy, he reflected, scribbling in elegant Gothic black-letter script, having to go over and colour in the letters with his ballpoint pen. Most of them, anyway. Agent Sea had put on a damn good act. Of course, the attack at the hotel had to have been the work of a bunch of loonies—no one would _really_ want to kill him, obviously, he was much too attractive. It was sweet of the terrans to be so concerned, but there really wasn't the need. He wished they'd just get finished with their paperwork, or whatever, and let him go back to the hotel; they were holding the Costume Ball that night.

He chewed meditatively on the end of the pen, reducing it to punctured and mangled plastic. There had been something very familiar about the individual who'd shot at him. He couldn't quite place it; he'd been so startled by the whole incident that his memory, which was normally photographic, wasn't very clear. He yawned, showing off dentition that would shame most sharks, gave up trying to remember and applied himself once more to his poem, which was shaping up nicely. He'd sketched in a working title at the head of the page, with little curlicues and drawings of coffins around it: _Twilight of the Heart._

Elle, Jay, Zed and several other agents stood around Zed's white formica desk and argued. There had been no sign of any other intruders by the time they had arrived on the scene; all they saw were the two corpses of the shooters who had tried to retire Sea and assassinate His Highness. Not particularly enlightening, since both of them were blasted into anonymity—both definitely physiologically human, though, according to the spectral tracer. 

"She would have felt them," said Elle crossly. "She should have been aware that they were there; it seems as if they took her by surprise. I don't understand how humans could shield that well."

"Maybe they got some kinda telepathic training facility out west, or something," said Jay. "You know, testing this kinda stuff, like in _Firestarter_."

Zed gave this the look it deserved. "We'd know. There must have been others," he said. "What about the other two aliens who bought those weapons? The Carbonizer—we've got that, but what about the stripped Cricket? Where is it? And where the hell are those two ETs?"

Agent Esse straightened her tie. "You want us to go check out the area again?" she asked. Zed nodded, and she and her partner Cue headed out. That left several agents still standing by the desk and waiting for orders.

"Elle, Jay, you run a comprehensive search of this island. Full perimeter lockdown. No ET gets into or out of Manhattan, you got me?" They clicked their heels and hurried out, glad to escape. The atmosphere in Zed's office had been like a thundercloud massing above their heads. "What about Sea and Kay?" Jay asked, nervously, as they went to the munitions locker. "Should we go see if......?" He let it trail off.

"I don't know," said Elle bleakly. "I kind of want to know a little more about what happened back there." She hefted a Blastech EE-3 rifle and handed him a Phaser—the one he'd gotten back when Kay blew that bug in two, five years back, the one he called Beauty. He took the gun, grunting under its weight.

"Like, why didn't she sense that they were there?" Jay asked, leading the way down toward the medical unit. "Me too. And when I last saw her she was muttering something about black hair with streaks in it and doppelgangers."

Elle blinked, following him. "Say what?"

"I don't know. I'm gonna find out."

They found Sea sitting up in bed and looking a lot brighter than she had, if a bit white and worn around the edges, and Kay in shirtsleeves, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth in direct defiance of every possible rule, telling her dirty jokes. Both looked up as Jay and Elle entered, guns cradled tenderly in their arms. "Damn," said Sea weakly. "We surrender."

Elle smiled; it was good to see the other woman looking so much better—and even more wonderful to see Kay finally relaxing. She'd begun to think she might have to shoot him full of Thorazine or something to get him to ease up. "Sea," she said. "Welcome back."

"Thanks. You look like you're going somewhere?"

"Yeah, back to work. I just had a couple questions." Elle pulled up an egg-chair; Jay leaned against the wall, exchanging questioning looks with Kay.

"Go ahead."

"Well.......you said you didn't feel the presence at all until you were right there in the line of fire?" Elle rested her chin on her hand. Sea fingered the bandaging on her shoulder, absently. 

"Yeah. It was like one of those horrible realizations that comes too late—like when you know the car's going to go over the cliff, or you know you can't make it through the door before it closes......I could feel everyone else, though. The Prince—he's impossible to ignore—and the kitchen staff, the bellhops, the convention-goers all over the place—it was a constant background noise. But this guy—it was as if he didn't even exist. It was the same with the one who attacked us in the suite."

Kay frowned. "His gun sure as hell existed."

Elle winced, scowling at him. "Thank you, Mr. Sensitivity. Sea—is it possible he just knew how to shield very well?"

"I don't think so. I really don't. It's not as if we humans have a lot of practice at this. I mean—his mind was as closed to me as........." She trailed off, looking extremely thoughtful and so pale that Kay's hand closed over her wrist. Elle frowned.

"What is it?"

"Nothing. Well, maybe nothing. It just came to me......the only people I've met recently whose minds feel like that are.......were......His Highness's two servants. The identical pair."

Kay cleared his throat. "The two you warned me to look for. We didn't find them."

"Yeah," she said. "I didn't like them. It wasn't them who shot at us, of course. But I didn't like them." 

Elle nodded slowly. "I'm having flashbacks. Kay, you having flashbacks?" Jay and Sea shared a _what the fuck are they talking about now?_ look, before Sea blinked and rubbed at her forehead. 

"Damn," she muttered. "Elle, you project harder than you think you do. I don't believe it, it's total science fiction, it's impossible........"

Kay chuckled dryly and took her hand in his. "Sea," he said, "three months ago you _knew_ humans were alone on this planet. Don't assume things are impossible."

Jay scowled at his ex-partner, recognizing part of the speech. "What the hell are you guys talking about? What's impossible?"

Elle grinned at him. "You remember seeing that training film about the Transylvanians, don't you?"

"What, the one with the dude in heels and a wig, the mad doctor dude who was making monsters? Yeah, but I don't....." He folded his arms, regarding the three grinning faces. "Oh no. You're not saying these Transylvanian guys are _making human beings_?"

"Well, that was the main event being depicted," said Kay. "'_I've been making a man with blond hair and a tan_,'" he quoted. Jay winced.

"Shit, you're serious," he said. "You really think these dudes are making humans and sending them after the Prince?"

"I don't know," said Elle. "But it would make sense......they're not normal humans, they could be trained by the Transylvanian adepts to control their shielding....they'd be expendable and useful as assassins........"

Kay cut in smoothly. "And they could be made to do anything their creators wanted."

Sea sighed. "It's not that I'm concerned with," she said. "I'm more worried with who is behind this and what it has to do with those ETs buying weapons from Jeebs."

"We need to find that last guy. With the Cricket." Jay stood up. Elle followed suit.

"He's right. We'll send word as soon as we find anything."

Kay sighed and put out his cigarette. "Go on, then," he said. Sea looked over at him with a stab of regret.

"You should go too," she said. "You'll go nuts hanging around here; you should be out on the streets doing your job."

Elle and Jay left tactfully, with a last glance at the pair of them. Kay scowled at her.

"Shit, woman, do you honestly think I'd be any better off driving around out there and running into stop signs because I'd be worrying about _you_ the whole time?" he demanded. She coloured, looked away.

"This is going to be a problem, isn't it," she murmured. He sighed, lit another illegal cigarette.

"Sea......I can't pretend this isn't happening, or that it isn't real." The look he turned on her was so astonishingly powerful, so filled with desire and fear and urgency, that she couldn't speak for a moment. She reached out and caught his hand, held it in hers, aware of the gun-calluses on his palm, the strength of the bones.

"I never expected to love you," she said quietly, looking down at their clasped hands. "I never expected to meet you after that first freak occurrence in the Bronx. But I did meet you again, and I did fall in love with you, and against all expectations and likelihoods, you love me too. I'm not willing to give that up, Kay. Not now."

His hand tightened in hers, almost enough to hurt. He didn't say anything for a few moments: when he did speak, his voice was rough, almost shaking. "Neither am I," he rasped. "This is the first thing in years that hasn't felt like a pretense. You make me feel—" he struggled for words. "You make me feel like I'm not a man who's been doing what he does for far too long. You make me feel...._young_, Sea. Alive. Like there's something to care about. I'd lost that."

She bit her lip. "Oh God, Kay—"

"Shhh. Don't." He swallowed. "We'll deal with it. Somehow we'll deal with it."

She nodded silently, still clinging to his hand, and then he'd wrapped his arms around her and she was clinging to him, his hand pressing her cheek against his shoulder, her arms tight around his neck. From very far away she could hear—and feel—the rumble of his voice as he said "We could even be......._better_ agents, better partners, because of it." The whiteness was coming back in great swooping heaves. She knew she was passing out; she clung to him. 

"........love you..............I love you........I love you.........."

***

Elle and Jay pulled their LTD to a stop outside the last hope they had. Millius had been in touch, giving them what information she could pull off her offworld sensors; this was the last known habitation of the two ETs who had bought guns off of Jeebs a few days before. Jay slipped his hand into his jacket, felt the comforting coldness of the Phaser in its holster. "Let's go."

Elle led the way up to the apartment, ran a scanning device over the door. "One lifeform. You want to do the honors?"

Jay grinned and backed up a few steps before hurling himself at the door and knocking it off its hinges, landing neatly in a crouch, weapon at the ready. He did a fast three-sixty, checking for targets, and motioned her in. "Gotta be hiding somewhere."

Elle nodded and flanked him to the left, her gun out. It looked like a normal black assault rifle, but Jay knew damn well it had the same basic firepower as a naval nine-inch on a really bad day. He cocked the Phaser and went to the right, jerking round a corner, kicking open another door. Bathroom. Scuzzy—cockroaches on the floor, brown ring in the toilet bowl. Nothing. The next door was a bedroom, and there he struck gold. A tentacle protruded from under the bed.

"Freeze!" he yelled. "Come out slowly with all your pseudopods up."

Slowly the tentacle extended itself, and then another, and another. The main bulk of the creature looked more like a tapeworm with extensions than anything else: it slithered out from under the bed in a nasty sick snakelike motion and curled itself up with its tentacles pointing at the grubby ceiling. Jay grinned to himself. Piece of cake. "Who are you and what the hell are you doing on this planet without clearance?"

Behind him Elle slid into the room, gun at the ready. The tentacled thing—his brain did a bit of fast recall and came up with the species name, Jiiraliian, class 3—swayed, aware that it was totally outclassed in terms of firepower. It began to gargle in a thick choking voice; there was a brief delay before the agents' UTs cut in and they could understand what it was saying. 

"---don't shoot, don't shoot, I surrender, don't kill me......."

"Gimme some answers, wormy," Jay snapped. "Where's that Cricket?"

The thing motioned cautiously with a tentacle. "Second drawer from the top under the T-shirts....don't kill me....."

"We're not gonna kill you," Elle said, disgusted, and slid over to the drawer, extracting the field-stripped Cricket prototype and showing it to Jay. Firepower cut down a few fractions, inertial dampers off, a nasty little concealed weapon good for a few shots before it shorted out entirely. "Who were you gonna shoot?"

"It went wrong!" the creature squalled. "It all went wrong! We were just gonna take out the Prince and leave, no questions asked, no problems, but someone else got there first! Someone took the Carbonizer!"

"Who?" Jay demanded, not letting the thing out of his field of fire.

"I don't know!" it pleaded. "Some dude in black! Killed my partner and took the Carbonizer, I had no choice, I had to get out of there!"

Elle sat down, keeping the non-AK-47 on the thing. "Talk to us. Who hired you. When. Why."

"Can I sit down? I don't feel too good."

Jay motioned with the Phaser. "Don't try anything."

"Don't even think it," the creature gasped. It was grayish, green mottled specks blushing deeper green and paling again; a thin sheen of sweat covered it. "I wasn't in this for me, I was just getting paid, it was the Khi Brotherhood......."

"The crazy Davan fundamentalists?" Elle snapped.

"Yeah, the religious freaks, they said they wanted the Transylvanian prince out of the picture, they thought he was a moral threat to Dava," it whined. "Please, I'm just a hired gun, I didn't mean anything....."

Jay felt mildly sick. The thing's cowardice rolled off it like waves of stench. "Quit blubbering. The Khi brotherhood bought you and who else?"

"My partner, he's dead, he got splattered two nights ago, the guy in black killed him...."

"Guy in black," Elle said, looking at Jay. "What, a black suit like us?"

"No, some long black robe, long hair, looked like a Transylvanian......"

Jay cursed volubly. "The Transylvanians _are _behind this."

"We were all set for the hit, we were gonna sneak into the hotel last night and hit him then get the hell off this planet in our ship....." it gasped. "We were in the alley behind the hotel when this guy just comes running up to us and blows my partner away, I ran, I had no choice, I just wanna get off this planet, can't you give me a break?"

Elle pulled out her phone. "Zed, we got one of the conspirators. Bringing him in." She cut the connection and glared at their prisoner. "What about the Mertagensian?"

"Who?" the thing asked, genuinely puzzled.

"There was another ET on planet with an assassination weapon. We neutralized him. You're no connection?"

"No," it gasped, "me and my partner were hired by the Khi together, there was never any talk of a third party, am I gonna be killed?"

"Shut _up_ about being killed," Elle snapped. "We're taking you in. Any other illegal activities you want to tell us about? We'll find out anyway, and it'll go easier on you if you tell us now."

"No," it assured them. "Just the one hit and then we're gone. My ship's hidden downstairs."

"Why are you still here?"  
"I was afraid," it faltered. "The guy who hit my partner, he was a professional, I didn't want to get hit myself......I was gonna wait a little longer then leave......."

Elle sighed and put her gun away, tucking the illegal Cricket into her pocket. "Come on, you're going back to HQ for questioning, friend."

"There's one other thing," said the alien. "It........the guy who whacked us..........it.....it didn't register."

"Didn't register on what?" Jay demanded.

"It didn't have a mind. Or it didn't have a mind I could feel."

"Can you feel us?" Elle snapped.

"Oh yes, that's why I knew you were coming, that's why I hid, but this guy, he didn't have a mind.....I couldn't tell he was even there until too late........."

They exchanged glances. Elle pulled out her communicator again. "We got verification of Sea's data on the attackers. Same guy whacked the original assassin. Yeah. Looks like it."

Back at headquarters they offloaded their nasty prisoner and hurried up to Zed's office. "It doesn't look like the hit we anticipated and this hit have anything to do with each other," Elle said before they'd even been served with Sachertorte Sumatran Dark Roast. "This guy, when you can get him to stop shaking long enough to give you a coherent story, was hired by Khi. You know, that religious sect that's ruling Dava."

Zed scowled. "Dava's not a threat. Third-class satellite of a G-type star closer to the Horsehead than to Sol. What the fuck are they doing trying to assassinate a Transylvanian on _our planet_?"

"He was here," Jay put in. "I guess the Khi dudes were all like, let's get him while he's on a dipshit dirtball planet with no real interstellar force."

Zed scowled more fiercely, but nodded. "Yeah, you may be right. Neutral territory. Dave!" The lightspeed assistant blurred beside his desk, then solidified.

"Yessir?"

"Get the Twins to open a comlink to the Khi High Temple on Dava. I got a bone to pick with them."

Dave blurred out again. Zed turned back to his agents. "You think this is totally unconnected with the people who shot Sea?"

"Yeah," Elle said. "It looks like the guys who were sent here to kill His Highness ran into an internal plot a _lot_ more sophisticated than they were."

"Is the Prince still here?" demanded Zed.

"As far as I know, unless he's turned into a bat and flown away."

"Get his ass up here. I need some answers."

Jay and Elle rose, suppressing groans. The Transylvanian ruler was hard enough to deal with when he was merely being contained in an interview room. To convince him to come and have _another_ interview with Zed would take more persuasion than they had yet used.


End file.
